World War IV: Alliances- Book 0

by James Hunt

  “I can see.” Rodion gently picked at the gold around Tobaygu’s neck, and Tobaygu grinned. “But I did not come here for gold and silver either.”

  “No, my friend, you did not. Come, please.” Tobaygu surrounded himself with an armed escort at all times, and while Rodion’s men carried weapons as well, they were not for his protection. The only protection Rodion needed was the rifle on his back and the sword at his hip.

  Tobaygu’s clan had grown from nothing more than a small village, to a growing town in the middle of nowhere, to the epicenter of trade in northern Africa. The mines Tobaygu had found as a boy didn’t mean anything until he learned to harvest them, but when he did, he transformed not just his world, but the world of everyone he knew, including Rodion.

  The first time they met was a chance encounter, and Rodion almost killed him, but when Tobaygu pledged to offer aid to Rodion when he called up on it, he promised that he would make Rodion rich. At the time, he had no need for wealth, at least not in gold, but he chose to let the boy live. His father had always told him that a man who owed you his life was more apt to give you what you wanted in the future. And now the time had come for Rodion to collect his payment.

  “Production doesn’t stop,” Tobaygu stated proudly. “We substitute workers in at night. We’ve opened three new shafts this past year, and I hope to have another one before the winter. Dry season makes it easier to dig, although the workers tend to get thirsty quicker.”

  “What about transportation?” Rodion asked, watching the dirt-covered workers toil down in the pits of rocks and jagged earth. “The ore does me no good here in the pit.”

  “We’ve agreed to a trade route with the remaining Saudi families in the north.”

  Rodion scoffed. “They can barely feed their own people. How do you expect them to have the strength to build the infrastructure we need? Taking ships around to the dead coast would be quicker.”

  “But more dangerous for the cargo and the cargo’s travelers. The wastelands there are still fresh, my friend. A problem you still face in your own country, I would expect. Or else why would you be here?”

  It was true. The wars of his ancestors had crippled his people, and what was left of the old nation was nothing more than a shadow. Staying out of the foolish Island Wars the Chinese started helped somewhat, but the west still had little sympathy for the Reds. “And what makes you think we can trust the Saudis? They’re just as likely to steal our cargo as they are to survive the journey across the sands.”

  “The agreement grants them ownership of five percent of lands once you start to expand your empire. A small price to pay for rebuilding your former glory.”

  “And where will this five percent of land be?”

  “The agreement states that will be your decision.” Tobaygu gave a light bow. The man had always been more talented with his tongue than a sword. It was what saved his life all those years ago from a piece of steel sliced across his throat, and it was what had grown the small village around him into the mecca Rodion laid his eyes upon now.

  “Done.” Rodion gripped Tobaygu’s hand firmly and squeezed hard enough for the bones to pop under the pressure. “My men and I will take the first shipment back with us now while the Saudis prepare for weekly shipments.”

  “Weekly?” Tobaygu asked, raising his eyebrows. “General, that is a tall order, even with the shafts I will have opened by the end of the year. We produce more than just ore here, my friend.”

  Rodion stiffened. He walked slowly to Tobaygu, the gravel and loose dirt from the mine waste crunching under his boots. The heat and talk had finally worn his patience thin. “Your gold and silver may be able to buy you trinkets and baubles, Tobaygu, but it cannot stop the lead of bullets. Once I have my materials, you will be able to produce all the gold and silver your heart desires, but until those that threaten my people have been disposed of, your mines will produce the ore I need. Is that understood?”

  Tobaygu broke the tension with his white smile. “My friend, I have always understood our relationship. I would hope that does not become forgotten when you have what you desire.”

  “It won’t.” Once the papers were signed and seals stamped, Rodion and his men loaded up the ore Tobaygu had already produced and started the long journey back home. The thought brought a brief moment of relief and joy into his life but was quickly dismissed.

  The road ahead was long, and it had taken so much time just to make it this far. While Rodion didn’t enjoy the fact of bringing on the Saudis, he understood the need. It was the same need that prompted his agreement with the Chinese. Allies were important for the war to come.

  ***

  The fertile farms with their acres of corn and potatoes on the outskirts of the northwest region slowly turned to grey fields of ash the farther Dean and his men rode. The scent of death grew stronger with each step east.

  The wastelands stretched from the jagged peaks of the Rocky Mountains all the way to the northeast coast, where his grandfather used to tell him and his brothers stories about the massive cities their ancestors had built. But like the wastelands, now they were nothing more than dust and rubble.

  Not all of the land they passed was scorched with the deadly fires that had consumed people long ago in the Great War, and those were the patches of land where the clans survived.

  Their sizes ranged from a few thousand to tens of thousands, and their rituals and personalities were just as varied as the people themselves. As Dean and his men rode through, he felt the anger that was projected by them. Even though the clan wars had been over for nearly a year, there wasn’t much love lost between their peoples. Peace rarely afforded the loser with forgiveness.

  The closest clan to Dean’s territory were the Black Rocks. They were formidable, with their chief commanding six thousand men. Their leader had only been in power as long as the peace, and Dean was glad to have a clan leader so close who valued the lives of both peoples.

  Chief Irons waited for them outside the dirt-and-mud mound that composed his home with fifteen of his own warriors and council, all of which were armed with swords, axes, spears, anything that could be made a weapon. Dean pulled up the reins on his horse and dismounted. The clans were known for always wanting to flaunt their strength. The only thing that surprised Dean was the fact that Irons didn’t call for more soldiers.

  “Governor Mars,” Irons said, extending his tattooed arm and hand. “It does my council honor to have you pay us these respects.”

  Dean shook Iron’s hand firmly. The chief was younger than he was and greener in the arts of war and politics, but the boy was learning. The last time the two had spoken was two months after the treaty to finalize the railroad agreement. During those conversations, the boy stuttered and spoke in half measures. Even the tone of his voice was different now. “I thank you for the audience, Chief.”

  Both parties entered the chief’s chambers, with Irons and Dean leading the pack. Most of the clans had certain customs, most of which Dean and his men always observed. The Black Rock leaders, and the leaders of their rivals, always lead their men, and it was disrespectful for a lower-ranking official to ever walk in front of the chief. However, the Scarver clan called for the sacrifice of blood to see their chief. Dean didn’t visit them very often.

  “How is your rail coming along?” Irons asked.

  “The winter gave us some setbacks, but we’re hoping to be back on schedule before the end of the summer.” The chief’s home acted as the entryway into the main source of the village, where they walked past women and children tending to livestock and what crops they could grow. In the distance, the crumbled walls of old towns and cities struggled to rise from their own ashes on the horizon. “How have your people been acclimating to peace?”

  “The sooner the deliveries of your foods reach our mouths, the sooner I think your welcome would be better received.” The chief gave a light smile with his words.

  “I think that would work o
ut in favor of everyone involved.” Dean stopped in front of a small group of children chasing each other with sticks, pretending they were swords in war. “I was hoping we could speak in private.”

  The chief turned to his men, and immediately one of the hovel homes was cleared and ready for their disposal. Inside, the floor was dirt, and the small home was void of any furniture, save the bed of grass in the corner. The clans were known more for their scavenging than their ingenuity. “What would you like to speak with me about, Governor?”

  “A farm was attacked and burned to the ground, along with the surrounding lands, inside my region. The only survivors were the children, who managed to escape. Both of their parents were killed.”

  Dean was pleased to see that Irons’s first expression was one of grief before it turned to the rage-induced anger that he was meant to show against such allegations. “You bring me words of war, Governor?”

  “I bring you words of reason, Chief.” Dean stiffened. “I need to know if you’ve had any trouble keeping control of your people.”

  Irons smacked his fist into the hard wall of compacted earth in defiance. “The Black Rocks follow me! They listen to only my commands. If you want the Black Rocks to burn your farms, then all I have to do is tell them.”

  “And did you?” Despite the young chief’s age, he stood an inch taller than Dean and had an added twenty pounds of muscle. But if there was one thing he learned from having both older and younger brothers, it was the fact that no matter how big you grew, the fear of someone with more experience could put you in your place.

  Irons backed off slowly. “I gave no such order.”

  Dean pulled out the sketch that his nephews had described and handed it to the chief. “Do you recognize these markings? Have you had trouble with any new clan that’s sprouted up over the past year?”

  Irons held the sketch and walked absentmindedly around the floor. He nodded slowly. “Yes, I have seen this before.” He extended it back to Dean. “A few days ago, some of my clansmen on the outskirts were raided. Food and water were stolen, so I sent trackers out to find those responsible. Three men. We found them heading north. Two were killed in the fight, but the other is here in our cells.”

  A jolt of adrenaline shot through Dean’s veins. “Those raiders—the farm that they burnt down, the people that they killed were my brother and his wife. I want to speak to this man.”

  “Of course, but I must warn you, the man is barely alive. We questioned him thoroughly, and he did not talk. It is not likely your efforts will be any different.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  ***

  Sydney’s port authority office was bursting with officers loading rifles, pistols, and whatever gear they could use to hunt down the arms dealers Lance had described. The decade of peace did little to ease the Aussies’ prejudices about Chinese buying or selling weapons, especially when it was happening right under their noses.

  “All right, listen up!” Danny’s voice cut through the chatter of mouths and the click of steel. “The smugglers were last seen on the outskirts of the northeast market. We already have patrol boats ready to load up, and our scouts spotted a ship heading north toward the islands. Let’s move!”

  Lance tightened the holster belt around his waist, adjusting the sword to his right and the pistol on his left. A combined sense of familiarity and dread filled him. The weapons seemed to slide into place too easily. The war drum beating in his chest thumped loudly, and he couldn’t deny the rush that accompanied the eve of battle.

  Canice had already readied the ship before Lance arrived, and the Sani was the first to set sail. Danny and the rest of the port authority were kind enough to grant them the extra fuel to join the pursuit.

  The steam boilers propelled the ship forward, and smoke rose from the stacks along the ship’s deck as the Sani cut through the waves like a hot knife through butter. Lance always found the ship faster when its mission involved the prospect of battle. The two port authority ships struggled to keep up, unfamiliar with the path to war.

  The first islands came into view a few hours after departing Sydney, just as the sun began to set. Canice joined Lance at the wheel upon the sight of land. “They couldn’t be much farther, Captain. They didn’t have that much of a head start on us, and from what Danny’s men told us, the ship couldn’t have gone faster than ten knots.”

  “Unless it was a warship,” Lance replied.

  Canice gave the captain a narrow-eyed glance, one that the first mate had earned to give the captain during their tours together against the Chinese. “I remember you telling Danny the Chinese didn’t have any ships.”

  “That was before they started shooting at me.” Lance kept to the south side of the islands and only veered west when the water shallowed. The channels of the Philippines twisted and curved, and the reefs had claimed more ships than he cared to remember during their naval battles during the Island Wars. Still, the waterways were mapped in his mind like the grooves in his palm.

  Lance navigated through the treacherous waters, guiding the two port ships with him, scanning the small islands for any sign of the smugglers, but as the sun slowly sank below the horizon, Lance grew weary. “We couldn’t have passed them. Line of sight was at least three miles.”

  “Maybe they headed east, or west?” Canice added.

  “No, the port scouts in the north territories would have seen it.”

  “Unless Danny’s men told us what they wanted us to see.”

  It was a thought that crossed Lance’s mind as well. The fact that there were smugglers operating on the outskirts of the markets wasn’t surprising. The fact that they were Chinese smugglers was.

  Lance ordered the lights on all three ships to be dimmed and the boilers to run only when needed. They coasted along the waterways, trying to stay quiet and unseen. The longer they searched, the more Lance wondered whether or not he let his imagination get the better of him.

  The scars of war had healed, but they were not forgotten. What little sleep Lance managed to catch was plagued with nightmares and visions of his previous battles. For the longest time, he’d felt as though his life had started with those memories of war. They’d replaced his childhood and family.

  “Captain!” Canice held the binoculars aimed toward an island to their east. “Two o’clock, just past the alcove. There.” She pointed, handing the binoculars to Lance.

  Lance followed the line of sight along with Canice’s finger and scanned the horizon with the two rounded scopes until his eyes rested on a faint outline that resembled the bow of a ship. “Veer right eighty degrees, and cut the engines and our lights. We’re downwind, and we don’t need any help carrying our sound.”

  Canice echoed Lance’s orders to the crew. The two port ships that followed copied Lance’s activities, and the large vessels all careened in one swift motion.

  The closer they moved toward the tip of the island, the bow of the ship came into view more clearly. He watched for any movement, but he couldn’t even see the flicker of a scout light on the tip of the barrier. The night clouded any land markers that would have identified their location, but judging from the maps, they were somewhere just south of the Sulu Sea, or as Lance and every sailor called it, the blade’s edge.

  The namesake was given because it was the first push back that the Aussies made after the North Americans arrived to help fight during the Island Wars. The waters were thick with iron hulls, and the air boomed with the thunder of cannons. Lance was still nineteen at the time, and in all of the stories his grandfather told him of the Great War, none of them seemed to compare to what he saw that day on the water.

  Lance gripped the side of the ship’s railing and handed the binoculars back to Canice. “I want three excursion boats ready and the men to fill them armed. Put us one hundred yards from the reef, then drop anchor. I’ll be taking the men out myself.”

  “Yes, sir.”